


the clockmaker's dilemma

by doomcake



Series: Across the Universe [9]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Character Death, Domestic Fluff, Drama, Explicit Language, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Male Slash, Non-Explicit Sex, Violence, fair warning, mafia, this doesn't end well
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 15:01:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9129223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doomcake/pseuds/doomcake
Summary: Yamamoto tells himself he’s doing this for the Vongola—for his famiglia.“Liar,” his conscience replies. “You’re doing this for you.”They've only been skirmishing against the Millefiore so far, but now the real war begins.[Part of an ongoing, post-TYL divergent AU arc]





	

**Author's Note:**

> ... Surprise?? (*crickets chirping*)
> 
> Okay, yes, yes, it's been over four years since I last updated this story arc. To anyone who has been loyal to this series so far: you're a rockstar, and I AM SO SORRY. I AM. I have a million excuses, but I'm pretty sure nobody wants to hear those, so I won't give them now. I've been pretty determined to finish this arc, though, so I'm hoping to be able to achieve that goal, no matter how long it takes me. This is only part 1 of 2 (possibly 3, the draft keeps ballooning), but I did advertise a 2016 update on this arc, so at least here's this much. More to come!
> 
> Many thanks to arwentyan, who pre-read this and offered some great feedback & encouragement! This is otherwise unbeta'd, aside from my own comb-throughs. And I've done a fair amount, since there were some significant gaps between writing spurts.
> 
> Some disclaimers: I've fallen pretty far out of the KHR fandom and haven't actually read the manga in ages, but I did a lot of research and fact-checking, so I'm hoping that I'm not completely out of line here. Otherwise, chalk it up to pure headcanon, and keep in mind that I did start this whole thing before the TYL arc ended (I think even before we realized Tsuna hadn't in fact died).
> 
> Otherwise, buckle up--this installment doesn't end well. (FAIR WARNING, OKAY. Y'all knew this was coming.) Also, if you're new here, you may want to start at [the beginning of this series](http://archiveofourown.org/works/682208) so you don't get lost. ;)

“Hey, idiot, pay attention when I’m fighting you!”

 

Yamamoto barely ducks a right hook aimed at his jaw, grinning madly as Gokudera shifts his stance to compensate for the missed impact. He feints with his left fist at Gokudera’s jaw, and follows with a leg sweep when Gokudera’s arm blocks the feint (but obscures the view of his feet in the meantime). The Storm Guardian anticipates the blow to his feet and lightly jumps over Yamamoto’s foot, spinning into a well-aimed mule kick at Yamamoto’s side. Yamamoto manages to block the kick, but the force behind the blow sends him stumbling back a few steps.

 

“Haha, looks like your strength’s back!” he exclaims happily.

 

“It’s been back, you dumbass,” Gokudera snaps, following up the kick with some hard-hitting jabs. Yamamoto does well blocking all but the last attack, an open-palmed blow to his diaphragm that knocks the wind out of him with a harsh _oomph_.

 

In Gokudera’s brief moment of smirking triumph, Yamamoto takes advantage of the split-second opening and this time, manages to successfully hook his foot around Gokudera’s ankle. A quick grab-pull-flip combo, and Yamamoto has Gokudera flat on his back, pinned to the mat with a strong arm to his neck. When Gokudera moves to retaliate, Yamamoto puts just a hair more pressure on his neck in good-natured warning.

 

Gokudera glowers at him for all of three seconds before tapping out.

 

“Fine, fine, asshole, you win this round,” he begrudgingly admits.

 

Yamamoto grins and lets up, using the same warning arm as a peace offering to help Gokudera back to his feet. Gokudera almost looks like he’d rather bite Yamamoto’s hand than take it, but with a sigh, he takes the assistance. 

 

“You’ve improved a lot since we last sparred,” Yamamoto says, still grinning. “Your kicks hurt like hell; I think I’m going have a bunch of bruises this time! Haha.”

 

“You still kicked my ass, though,” Gokudera says irritably. “Clearly I’m not where I need to be, yet.”

 

“But you’ve only been cleared to do this for a couple of weeks,” Yamamoto points out.

 

“So?” Gokudera rubs his sweaty face down with a towel. “It’s no excuse for the Right Hand Man to lose like this in a fight.”

 

Yamamoto shakes his head and chuckles, resisting the urge to sigh. “I think you did just fine.”

 

Gokudera glares at him, but doesn’t say anything more as they both head to the showers. Yamamoto slings an arm around his lover’s shoulders, ignoring Gokudera’s protests about his sweaty armpits. They’re both drenched, after all, so what’s the big deal? Gokudera still doesn’t seem too amused, and the tension in his shoulders hasn’t faded.

 

Months have passed since the Millefiore have made their presence known in the mafia world, but since that discovery, news on the warfront (because as much as Yamamoto hates to admit it, they _are_ at war) has been startlingly absent. As in, _absurdly_ quiet. It’s as if Byakuran is giving them ample time to build up their defenses—and as Gokudera pointed out in a meeting earlier that day, it isn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility. The man enjoys games, and this sounds like a classic move on his part.

 

If that is indeed his plan, Yamamoto thinks, it’s _working_. The silence is slowly fraying all of their nerves, because they’re all on edge, not knowing when or where the Millefiore will strike first. Yamamoto is convinced that Gokudera will have an aneurysm if things continue as they are.

 

Hence his decision to drag Gokudera to the training arena for a good, rough round of sparring every few days. It seems to help a little; Gokudera spends less time pacing his office than he had before. The injury in Gokudera’s side has finally faded to a thin scar, leaving Gokudera determined to gain back the muscle and stamina he’d lost during his extended injury leave. He’s recovered a fair amount of both in only a few weeks—which only makes him more agitated, since Gokudera has never been one to be patient.

 

Yamamoto thinks Gokudera has been doing remarkably well, but doesn’t dare voice it. Gokudera would only scoff and tell him he’s being overly optimistic.

 

Today’s session, though, serves another purpose: Yamamoto’s trying to loosen Gokudera up for news. He’d hesitate to call it “bad” news, because Yamamoto doesn’t think it’s bad at all, but Gokudera definitely isn’t going to like it. The only reason Yamamoto is breaking the news to Gokudera is because Tsuna begged him to—Tsuna rarely asks anything of Yamamoto, so he can hardly turn his best friend’s request down. 

 

“Hey, Gokudera,” Yamamoto begins, stripping off his sweaty t-shirt in the locker room. “I have something to tell you.”

 

Gokudera pulls his head free from his shirt and raises an eyebrow. “Yeah?” he says skeptically.

 

“Uh, haha, well, you see—”

 

“I’m not going to like this, am I.” Gokudera sighs and pulls off his pants, wrapping a towel around his waist. “Stop looking like I’m going to hit you and spit it out.”

 

Yamamoto blinks; he didn’t even realize he was backing up. Straightening his spine, he laughs nervously as he watches Gokudera grab shampoo and a bar of soap out of his locker. He knows Gokudera doesn’t have nearly as good a throwing arm as he does, but he wouldn’t put it past Gokudera to throw the soap bar at him.

 

“So you know that meeting we have this weekend?”

 

“The one with Cavallone? Yeah, the Tenth already filled me in about it. We’re all supposed to be there for dinner ahead of time.” 

 

Gokudera stalks into the nearest shower stall, flicks the curtain shut, and turns the water on, forcing Yamamoto to raise his voice. “Um… well, about that—not _all_ of us are going to be there.”

 

Gokudera whips his head out from around the shower curtain, scowling. “And where the hell are you going _this_ time?” he asks.

 

“Oh, it’s not me—I’ll definitely be there! Haha. It’s just that, uh, you’re going to have to run the meeting from our end. Tsuna’s going out of town for the next week.”

 

Yamamoto braces himself with a pre-emptive wince.

 

“… _What._ ” The shower water abruptly turns off, and Gokudera comes storming out of the shower with his hair wet and his towel damp around his waist. “What the _hell_ is he thinking?! If we’re supposed to be at the meeting, who’s going to watch his back while he’s gone? The Millefiore are probably planning an ambush on him as we speak! No wonder they’ve been so quiet. _Fuck,_ this is the worst possible timing—why didn’t he come to me about this ahead of time? I’m his _sotto capo_ , for fuck’s sake; he could’ve at least talked to me about this plan before going through with it.”

 

Yamamoto smiles placatingly throughout the entire tirade, watching warily as Gokudera paces in front of the shower stall. He’s got a hand behind his head, tugging at his own nape absentmindedly, and is caught off guard when Gokudera suddenly backs him into a wall, forearm against his collarbone.

 

“How long have you known about this?” he demands.

 

Yamamoto swallows. “A couple of days?” he answers meekly. Gokudera’s lip curls as he growls, and Yamamoto quickly adds, “I swear I was going to tell you earlier! I just… couldn’t find the right time? Haha… Ow, that hurts!”

 

“You’re such an idiot,” Gokudera says with an aggravated sigh. But he loosens the pressure on Yamamoto’s chest, and Yamamoto quickly scoots away from the wall. “I thought you had my back on these things. Why didn’t you tell him it’s a bad idea?”

 

Yamamoto hesitates, thinking for a moment. Why _hadn’t_ he advised Tsuna against the idea? Gokudera _does_ make a good point about bad timing, especially since they don’t know what the Millefiore are up to these days.

 

But Tsuna had looked so _desperate_ when he’d asked…

 

“I think Tsuna needs to get away to clear his head,” Yamamoto finally answers. “With everything that’s been going on, I think he feels stifled, hiding here in the main estate.” And then he remembers Tsuna fiddling with something in his pocket while he’d made the request—and the puzzle pieces start to fall into place. “… Come to think of it, though, he _did_ specifically say he wanted some time with Kyoko, alone…” His eyes widen. “You don’t think—?”

 

Gokudera smacks his forehead harshly with his palm. “Of course! _Mio Dio,_ why didn’t I see this coming?”

 

“You don’t approve?” Yamamoto asks, a little confused—doesn’t Gokudera like Kyoko?

 

“Of course I approve—if she’s good enough for the Tenth, then she should be good enough for all of us!” Gokudera snaps. “I’m just a little surprised he’s doing this _now_ , and… well, not _after_ we deal with the Millefiore situation.”

 

“Do you think they’ll get married soon, then?” Yamamoto asks hopefully. He thinks weddings are fun, and they’ve been sorely lacking in genuinely _fun_ things to do with the heavy atmosphere of late.

 

Gokudera snorts again. “Hell if I know—he wouldn’t even tell me he was leaving this weekend! Doesn’t he trust me? _Fuck_. I’m such an idiot.”

 

“Oh cheer up, Gokudera! It’s not that he doesn’t trust you—he just… I don’t know, I think he’s still scared of your temper sometimes. And he probably knew you’d try to talk him out of it (which is a good thing for the _sotto capo_ to do!), and he’d listen, and he might think he’d miss his chance—”

 

“Enough, enough, I get it!” Gokudera waves Yamamoto’s explanation away dismissively. “When does he leave? Maybe I could at least talk to him about security preparations and how to keep an eye out—… what’s that look for, dumbass?”

 

Yamamoto shies away, just a little. “Ah, you see—” 

 

“Fuck. They already left, didn’t they.”

 

“While we were sparring, I think…”

 

Gokudera pins a suspicious glare on Yamamoto, and Yamamoto suddenly can’t seem to meet his gaze. “You _tricked_ me, didn’t you.”

 

“No…?”

 

“Liar!”

 

Yamamoto ducks the soap bar that’s suddenly flying at his face. “You shouldn’t ask so many not-questions! They’re so confusing—” Yamamoto bends backwards to avoid a solid uppercut, holding his hands up in defense. “Haha, that was a little close! Wait, wait, don’t hit me—they actually left before we went to the gym, I promise!”

 

Gokudera’s fist is suspended mid-air; Yamamoto can see his jaw clenching as he debates finishing off the blow or just letting it drop. With another sigh, Gokudera’s hand falls to his side.

 

“Could you at least tell me _where_ they went so we can make sure we know where to look if they go missing?” he says after a moment.

 

“I think they went to one of the Vongola estates in Italy,” Yamamoto says. “Sorrento? Maybe?”

 

“Oh. Yeah, that sounds right—we do have a small estate there, and have a few allied famiglia with footholds there, too,” Gokudera says. “Probably a good choice if he’s trying to lay low. Which he’d better be!” He sticks an accusing finger near Yamamoto’s face.

 

Yamamoto just grins sheepishly with an awkward laugh.

 

Gokudera wrinkles his nose and moves to pick up his errant bar of soap. “I’m going to go make some phone calls once I’m done showering. You should shower, too—you still stink.”

 

“Haha…” 

 

Once Gokudera is safely behind the shower curtain, Yamamoto breathes a sigh of relief. The conversation actually went much better than he’d expected, but he knows he’s in for a long weekend of Gokudera pacing and fretting. Ah, well, he supposes there are worse things to deal with, so he gathers up his shower things and hops in an empty shower stall with a grin.

 

 

 

 

 

Much to Yamamoto’s surprise, Gokudera doesn’t do that much pacing in Tsuna’s absence. Instead—and Yamamoto isn’t sure if this is an improvement—Gokudera throws himself into filling in for Tsuna’s duties by running the day-to-day aspects of the famiglia, and when he has spare time, spends most of it in his lab. Which isn’t unusual these days, considering how desperately Gokudera wants to complete his pet project. Yamamoto doesn’t bother him much, except to occasionally badger him into a meal or some much-needed rest.

 

Yamamoto does what he can to help with Vongola’s daily matters, but if he were to be honest with himself, most of the more “delicate” aspects (as Gokudera puts it) of their dealings aren’t his specialty. He’s far more skilled at taking direction than he is at giving the orders himself, so whenever he can catch Gokudera in Tsuna’s office, he makes sure he’s available. Gokudera doesn’t say as much, but he seems grateful for the extra hands.

 

Four days into Tsuna’s vacation, Gokudera is on the phone in Tsuna’s office, speaking with one of their lead business managers in Milan in clipped Italian, and Yamamoto finds himself flopped over on the plush couch staring at a local business report that might as well have been in Greek for all he could decipher. There were some issues with the local police at one of their Yokohama warehouses, in an area where there should have been plenty of officers on the Vongola payroll—something about a potential higher bidder trying to encroach on their turf. Gokudera had asked Yamamoto to look into it to see who was behind the out-bidding, but Yamamoto hated reading reports, and this involved a lot of doing just that. (He wasn’t about to tell Gokudera of his displeasure, not with how much the _sotto capo_ had on his plate these days.)

 

Yamamoto is six pages into the forty-page report when the door slams open, startling both him and Gokudera. Haru is standing in the doorway, out of breath.

 

“I’ll call you right back,” Gokudera says in Italian (Yamamoto has heard it enough times to know what it means) and hangs up.

 

“Haha, Haru, you startled us!”

 

“ _Christ_ , Woman, what the hell?”

 

She looks between Gokudera and Yamamoto as if she’s trying to decide who to focus on—and settling on Gokudera, she suddenly blurts, “Tsuna-kun is going to marry Kyoko!”

 

Yamamoto blinks twice before he barks out a laugh, which he quickly stifles at Gokudera’s glare—and Haru also looks mildly offended. Okay, so that would’ve been counter-productive, but anyone who has spent a moment of time with Tsuna when Kyoko is in the room would know that.

 

“I think that was established years ago, Haru,” Yamamoto says carefully, trying not to offend her further. Haru is quite tenacious when it comes to vying for Tsuna’s attention, even though she probably has always known that it’s a losing fight. (She isn’t an idiot, after all, and Kyoko is still a good friend of hers.)

 

“No, you don’t understand!” she exclaims. “He finally _proposed_!”

 

Gokudera’s eyes widen. “Wait, Tsuna and Kyoko are in Italy. How did you find this out?”

 

“Kyoko-chan called me early this morning,” Haru says. “She woke me out of a dead sleep! You hadn’t heard yet?”

 

Yamamoto doesn’t understand the panicked look that’s crossing Gokudera’s face until he finally manages to say, “Haru, were you at home?”

 

“Of course I was! Where else would I have been?”

 

When Gokudera sends Yamamoto a _look_ , it takes a moment for him to catch on to what Gokudera is trying to find out. “I need to make a phone call,” Gokudera says abruptly.

 

“Damn straight you do! You should be working on planning his giant mafia boss wedding!”

 

Yamamoto almost laughs at Gokudera's baffled expression, but catches himself when he sees the expression shift into something heralding an imminent loss of temper. Instead, Yamamoto attempts a simple smile at Haru.

 

His smile freezes—she actually looks... pleased?

 

“H-Haru-san? Why are you smiling?”

 

“I’ve never heard her be so _happy_ —she asked me to be her maid of honor, you know! We talked about it before, but I can't believe she didn't _tell_ me they were already that serious!”

 

Gokudera blinks at her and says blandly, “As if she'd known that the Tenth was going to propose to her.” With an exasperated sigh, he adds, “So, what was the point in you coming to tell us this happy news?”

 

“I already told you—as Tsuna’s right hand man, you’re responsible for the party! I’m simply coming by to make sure you’re aware of your duties, _sotto cappo,_ ” she says haughtily. “And I was going to offer my services to assist you, but it sounds like you’re not interested in expert advice.” She grabs the door handle with a sigh, flinging it open with gusto. “You could've at least congratulated me for being designated maid of honor!” she shouts over her shoulder as she storms down the hallway.

 

“What... just happened?” Yamamoto asks as he watches Haru disappear around a corner. He comes back into the office and closes the door behind him.

 

“Don’t try to understand her,” Gokudera says around the phone receiver. “It’ll only make you stupider than you already are.”

 

Yamamoto chuckles. “You may be right.” Frowning as Gokudera dials a number, he asks, “Do you think her call was traced?”

 

“I wouldn’t put it past our enemies.” Gokudera steadies himself against the desk with a hand, leaning forward after he’s finished dialing. “Haru lives outside the estate. They probably know of her affiliation with us, and have her phone line bugged.”

 

“Why isn’t she living in the estate?”

 

“Hell if I know. I think it has something to do with not wanting to interfere in Tsuna and Kyoko’s relationship. Or something about wanting to be her own woman. Stupid reason, if you ask me—especially if she’s compromised one of our Italian safe houses.”

 

“She didn’t make the call first, though,” Yamamoto points out. “Can’t exactly blame her.”

 

Gokudera bares his teeth at him in irritation, but suddenly pulls the phone speaker up to his mouth. “This is Gokudera. I need to speak with the Tenth immediately.” He snaps his fingers at Yamamoto to get his attention, pointing towards the door. _Don’t let her go home,_ he mouths. “Yeah, well, tell him it’s important,” he snaps at the phone.

 

Yamamoto shakes his head as he heads down the hall after Haru.

 

 

 

 

 

The next morning, Yamamoto wakes to an empty apartment. It isn’t surprising in the least, now that Gokudera is planning Tsuna’s safe return, orchestrating the debugging of Haru’s apartment and her subsequent move into the estate, and running the finer points of the business. He’ll be busy from dawn until dusk when he’s in this mode, so Yamamoto will likely have to drag him away for a break at some point midday so that he at least eats.

 

Yamamoto rolls out of bed and drags himself into the kitchen. He pulls together a quick breakfast of _tamago gohan_ with reheated leftover rice and a raw egg, grabs a cup of lukewarm coffee (the leftovers of the pot Gokudera made earlier that morning), and downs both before going back into the bedroom and throwing on his gym clothing.

 

On his way to the private gym facility on the other end of the estate, he sneaks past Gokudera’s office to see if he’s there. When he finds it empty, he pokes his head into Tsuna’s office (one door down), and sees Gokudera glaring at the computer screen while growling irritably in Italian on the phone. Gokudera looks up and catches Yamamoto’s eyes before he nods curtly—probably the best morning greeting Yamamoto can hope to get out of him at the moment. Yamamoto grins and waves before he shuts the door and heads on down to the gym.

 

Yamamoto blasts through an intense cardio workout before he grabs a wooden sword and runs through his kata. Once complete, he showers at the gym locker room before stopping by the Zen garden to meditate, get his priority list for the day nailed down in his head before he goes back to help Gokudera with logistics. And lunch.

 

All in all, it’s turning out to be an average, low-key kind of day, he thinks as he walks across the estate’s main courtyard.

 

 

 

 

 

That thought comes back to bite him less than an hour later.

 

 

 

 

 

A band of local enemy Mafiosi launches an attack on the Vongola estate through the main gate that afternoon. Gutsy, Yamamoto thinks, but overconfident. They seem to know that the Vongola leader isn’t there, but they seem more interested in focusing their attacks on Gokudera. The fight drags on for a couple of hours—long enough for Vongola reinforcements to show up, and just long enough for Yamamoto to get cut. The fight doesn’t last much longer after that.

 

It isn’t serious, Yamamoto’s wound, but it’s long and bloody and messy and painful. He’s sitting in the Vongola medical ward, wincing while a nurse scrubs grime out of the slice on his chest, when Gokudera finally catches up with him. There’s a disappointed scowl on Gokudera’s face (see, Yamamoto knows him well enough to categorize his scowls—he wears them so often, it’s hard _not_ to see the differences), but he doesn’t say a word. Not at first.

 

“This is going to need some stitches,” the nurse informs Yamamoto curtly, dragging the antiseptic across a particularly deep section of the injury. It stings horribly, and Yamamoto hisses, jerking involuntarily. The nurse murmurs an apology and scolds him for squirming all in the same breath. She pulls out a piece of fresh clean gauze and presses it against the stinging part. “Hold this here while I go get the physician on duty.”

 

“You fucking idiot,” Gokudera finally says, once the nurse leaves the room. “You should’ve used your rain flames.”

 

“Yeah? Then it would be you sitting here instead of me,” Yamamoto says. His breath hitches around a ripple of pain, and then he adds vindictively, “With the way your body heals after these injuries? No thank you.”

 

“Goddamn it, Takeshi,” Gokudera hisses. “You could at least have defended yourself. I think you wouldn’t have been hurt in the first place if you’d just used your flames.”

 

“But if I had? What then?”

 

“It isn’t just about me taking blows for you, dumbass. Believe it or not, I actually do have faith in your abilities to avoid getting hurt,” Gokudera says earnestly. It stings a little, Yamamoto thinks, but that also could just be the wound. “Besides, those were just grunts—they were simply testing our defenses. You should’ve been able to fend them off just fine.”

 

Yamamoto frowns. “They? Who’s _they_?”

 

“ _Jesus_ , and we send you on recons? Didn’t you see the insignia on their shirts?” Gokudera says, gesturing to his shoulder in exasperation. “These guys were Millefiore! They weren't even bothering trying to hide behind their original family name this time.”

 

Yamamoto tries to think back to the battle, but all he can remember is Gokudera getting pinned into a corner, one of the attackers getting past the Sistema C.A.I. shields, and not thinking of anything else when he jumps in between Gokudera and the sharp edge of a blade. The battle beyond that moment is all a blur to him. Now, his mind is reeling with sudden panic.

 

“You think they’re already at that point? Bringing in allies from our local enemies?”

 

“If they were wearing the insignias, yes. It doesn't really surprise me since they're easy recruitment targets for the Millefiore; they already hated us, which makes us a common enemy,” Gokudera replies. “The Tenth should be on his way back from Italy soon—I don’t know if he’s been informed.”

 

“Wait, you didn’t tell him about the attack?”

 

“No, I had Ryohei communicate with him. I was… a little preoccupied,” Gokudera says, pointedly looking at the gauze pressed to Yamamoto’s chest.

 

Yamamoto looks down, and then grits his teeth as he presses the gauze tighter into the wound—both at the pain the action causes, and in frustration at himself for distracting Gokudera. “I’m fine,” he insists. “You need to talk to Tsuna. No offense to Ryohei, but he isn’t exactly all that good at relaying this kind of important information.”

 

"You do realize that you're talking about the Tenth's soon to be brother-in-law," Gokudera replies, voice low in warning.

 

Yamamoto snorts (then winces, it hurts!), but before he can reply, the nurse bustles back in with a suturing kit sprawled out on a sterile tray.

 

“Okay, Mr. Yamamoto—you have a choice here,” she says, holding up the ends of two threads in her gloved hands. “You can have red thread or blue thread.”

 

Yamamoto makes a face and turns to say something snappish at Gokudera, but when he looks up, Gokudera is already gone.

 

 

 

 

 

In hindsight, Yamamoto thinks he should’ve expected a phone call from Tsuna sooner, but it comes as a surprise when he first picks up his mobile.

 

_“Yamamoto! I heard you were hurt! Are you all right?”_

 

“Yeah, haha, it’s just a scratch,” he says. “Hey, Tsuna—I’m sorry for ruining your special vacation with Kyoko. I know how much it meant to you to get away.”

 

_“Don’t you worry about that—I’m more worried about you, and Gokudera, and the others. Is everyone okay? What happened?”_

 

Yamamoto frowns—didn’t Gokudera tell him about this? “Did you already talk to Gokudera?”

 

_“No, he hasn’t answered any of my calls. Ryohei-senpai told me he was fine, but I got worried when I didn’t hear from him—or you, Senpai told me it looked bad.”_

 

“Well, I only got a few stitches,” Yamamoto says. It’s bending the truth a little, he ended up with fifteen stitches in all, but that’s not nearly as many as he _could’ve_ ended up with. “Hardly worth getting worked up over. How are you? Are you okay?”

 

_“I’m on my way back,”_ Tsuna says. _“We haven’t seen any action over here yet, but I’d rather not take my chances.”_

 

Yamamoto chews on his lip for a moment before asking, “So Gokudera really hasn’t talked to you yet about the attack?”

 

_“No, he hasn’t—what’s going on over there?”_

 

With a sigh, Yamamoto says, “How much do you know?”

 

_“Senpai said there was an attack, but he didn’t say who. Just told me that you’d been hurt, but everyone else was okay and that you’d managed to fend them off.”_ There’s a pause, and then a hesitant, _“Why? What didn’t he tell me?”_

 

“Tsuna, we're pretty sure it was led by members of the Difo famiglia, but now they're Millefiore. They've got the insignias, so we're assuming they've officially joined ranks.”

 

Yamamoto hears a sharp intake of breath over the line, but it takes a few seconds too long before Tsuna can say anything. _“… Shit.”_

 

A bark of mirthless laughter escapes Yamamoto’s throat. “Yeah, that’s a general consensus over here. I think they knew you weren’t here—I don’t know if I’m just being overprotective, but I think they may have been targeting Gokudera. Again.”

 

_“Are you sure?”_

 

“Like I said, I couldn’t tell you for sure, but that’s what it seemed like to me.”

 

_“I’ll be back in the next day or so. Please tell me you’ve got backup there. I know Dino’s in Tokyo—one of you should give him a call. I would, but—”_

 

“His line might be tapped, I know,” Yamamoto says. “Tsuna—please be careful. I don’t have a good feeling about any of this.”

 

_“Neither do I. I promise I’ll be careful.”_

 

 

 

 

 

Yamamoto doesn’t see Gokudera until late that night. He’s sitting on the couch with a half-empty bottle of Sapporo in one hand, eyes scanning over a report from one of their sets of eyes on the ports. Gokudera quietly unlocks and opens the door to their apartment, but drops all pretense of sneaking the second he sees that Yamamoto is still awake.

 

“I hope you weren’t waiting up for me,” Gokudera says by way of greeting. “You’re on strict orders of rest— _hey_ , I thought you weren’t supposed to drink alcohol with your pain meds!” He gestures irritably at the bottle in Yamamoto’s hand.

 

Yamamoto grins and holds up the report, hiding a wince as it tugs on the stitches in his chest. “Going through a report. Pain meds only make my head fuzzy.”

 

“And beer won’t?” Gokudera snorts.

 

“Nope,” Yamamoto replies, grin widening.

 

Gokudera sighs and scrubs a hand through his unruly hair. “Idiot,” he mutters. “Well, don’t forget that the doctor told you that you should rest. You lost a lot of blood.”

 

“Don’t have to remind me,” Yamamoto replies. “And it wasn’t _that_ much.”

 

Gokudera scowls, but doesn’t respond as he shuffles around the kitchen. “Did you eat yet?”

 

“Had some leftovers, but that was a while ago.”

 

“Take away sound okay to you? I’m starving and not in the mood to cook.”

 

“Take away sounds fine,” Yamamoto says, swirling the last of the beer in the bottle thoughtfully. “Busy day today?”

 

Gokudera snorts. “You don’t know the _half_ of it,” he says, fumbling in his pockets for his cell.

 

He almost doesn’t say it, but he’s had just enough alcohol on an empty stomach that it slips out anyway, and he regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth, because he doesn’t really want to pick a fight (and he’s afraid this will start one). “Too busy to talk to Tsuna?”

 

Gokudera goes completely silent, and Yamamoto looks up after a few minutes to see Gokudera staring at his phone.

 

“He called today, you know. Senpai told him about the attack. Said he couldn’t get a hold of you, so he got worried and called me instead.”

 

“… _Shit_.”

 

“What’s up?”

 

“Just realized that my phone doesn’t get reception in the la—err, corner of my office,” Gokudera finishes lamely. “Damn it. I’ll have to call him in the morning.”

 

Yamamoto doesn’t call him on the slip. He knows Gokudera hasn’t been in his office all day, but he’s too sore and tired to argue with him about lying.

 

“You can talk to him in person, then,” Yamamoto replies. “He’ll probably be on his way back by then.”

 

“Shit, shit, _fuck_ ,” Gokudera says.

 

“He’ll be fine.”

 

Gokudera huffs and drops his phone on the kitchen counter a little harder than he probably meant to, but he doesn’t move to touch it. “No, that’s not the issue—I’m just worried that he’s coming back over here blind.”

 

“I told him about the Millefiore attack.”

 

Gokudera’s furious glare snaps up. “Over an open line? Are you fucking _stupid_?”

 

Yamamoto sighs. “Your faith in me is astonishing,” he replies dryly. “Of course not. The line was secure. But he wanted me to contact Dino, because Dino’s apparently in Tokyo. I don’t have a lock on his location yet so I wasn’t able to set up a call tonight.”

 

Grunting, Gokudera runs a hand through his hair, pacing around the kitchen. “Jesus, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped at you,” he says after a moment. “That was uncalled for.”

 

“So is lying to me about spending time in the lab, but that’s okay.” Again, the alcohol lets the words slip out of his mouth before he has a chance to think about where he’s going with this, and he almost winces as Gokudera’s ears redden. “No, really—I actually do understand why you’re spending time down there. I would be too, in your shoes. I just… I just thought we were at a point where you could trust me.”

 

This time, Gokudera sighs, shoulder drooping. “I’m sorry,” he says. “It just makes me worried that if you knew what I was doing, _they_ could use it against me. Against _us_.”

 

“I don’t need to know what you’re working on,” Yamamoto says gently. “That’s not the issue. It doesn’t take a genius like you to figure out that you’re spending your time there, though, so I’d just appreciate if you didn’t insult my intelligence, such that it is.” 

 

Gokudera walks over to the back of the couch, resting his hands on Yamamoto’s shoulders. “You’re right,” he says, squeezing gently. “You’re right, and I’m an asshole, and I’m sorry.” He leans down and presses a soft kiss into Yamamoto’s hair. “How can I make it up to you?”

 

Yamamoto cranes his neck back to look up at Gokudera and _grins_. Gokudera snorts and rolls his eyes, but his lips are curled up in a soft smile.

 

 

 

 

 

It actually takes Tsuna two days to plan his return. Something about finding a secure flight path and avoiding hot zones where Millefiore or any of their suspected allies have infiltrated airspaces—in any case, Gokudera says he thinks he’d rather have Tsuna be delayed and safe than risk it, so that’s how it goes. Besides, Tsuna says the delay is allowing him to grab a few additional passengers (any backup at this stage is sorely needed and heavily appreciated), so it actually seems to work out better this way.

 

Gokudera spends just enough time out of his lab to help orchestrate Tsuna’s return trip, but only just. Even though he’s been surprisingly pleasant to Yamamoto, he’s increasingly snappish with everyone else (except Tsuna, of course), and that’s a big fat warning sign to Yamamoto that whatever research going on in the lab has hit a road block.

 

As promised, he doesn’t press for details, but if he gets one more complaint about Gokudera’s moods from Senpai, or Haru, or Lambo… well, there will be words. And it won’t be pleasant for either of them.

 

In the meantime, most other Vongola members have figured out that Gokudera isn’t fun to speak with now, so they’ve taken to routing most of their messages through Yamamoto. While they don’t advertise their relationship, it isn’t a secret around the estate. Most figure that Gokudera won’t tear his lover a new one for looking at him sideways.

 

But when Yamamoto walks in on Gokudera yelling at _Ipin_ , of all people, he has to put his foot down.

 

“Hey, Gokudera—I don’t care what this is about,” he says, putting his hand up to silence Gokudera’s protests, “but I can guarantee she doesn’t deserve your tone right now.”

 

When Ipin gives Yamamoto a grateful glance, he can tell that the poor girl is near tears. He nods his head towards the door, and she bows, shuffling out as quickly as she can before Gokudera can stop her.

 

“Yamamoto, what the fuck—”

 

“You’ve been crabby at everyone this week, and I mean _everyone_ ,” Yamamoto says calmly. “I appreciate that you have been pleasant with me, but everyone is complaining _to me_ that you’re being a complete asshole right now. We have a major crisis on our hands with the Millefiore, and we can’t afford to antagonize our own people. You _know_ that.”

 

Gokudera looks for all of five seconds like he wants to start a row with Yamamoto too, but thinks better of it, taking a deep breath and running his hand through his hair. “Shit. Shit, you’re right.”

 

“What’s going on? This isn’t like you.” Yamamoto places a hand gently on Gokudera’s shoulder. “I mean, you’re usually pretty cranky, but this is beyond normal.”

 

“Hey,” Gokudera protests half-heartedly. “I’m not _usually_ —” Yamamoto gives him a look that shuts him up. He sighs, chewing on his bottom lip the way he does when he’s trying to decide something important. “Okay, fine. You know what, why the hell not.”

 

Yamamoto raises an eyebrow in question.

 

“Come with me,” Gokudera says. “It’ll be easier to show you.”

 

Yamamoto follows Gokudera closely as he leads them to the lab. Gokudera keys in, and holds the door so that Yamamoto can slip past him. Squinting into the darkness of the lab, he can’t really see what’s going on, until Gokudera pulls him down a hallway to the side and into a cordoned-off room near the far corner. When Gokudera flips on the lights, Yamamoto squints, blinking against the brightness until his eyes slowly adjust. 

 

He remembers this machine, though it looks much less a lotus and more a half-dome now that the project has progressed. He still has no idea what it does, though now there are two salvaged airline seats in the middle of the dome, with a console in front of them.

 

“I’ve already seen this machine,” he says carefully, allowing the hint of a question into his voice.

 

“I know,” Gokudera says, grabbing the schematics and spreading them out on a table on the side of the lab. “It’s a lot further along than when you last saw it.”

 

“Yeah, I can see that,” Yamamoto replies, moving towards the machine. It looks like something straight out of a science fiction manga, but he still can’t tell what it does. Travel, of some kind? “So what does this do, exactly?”

 

“This—” Gokudera pauses, takes a deep breath and smoothes out the papers on the table. “This is my answer to Byakuran’s power.”

 

Yamamoto blinks. “You mean his ability to talk to his counterparts in parallel universes?”

 

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I mean.” Gokudera’s gaze is intense when Yamamoto meets it in surprise.

 

He can’t believe—no, there’s no way Gokudera was able to figure out Byakuran’s power with _science_. There’s just no way. Gokudera is very intelligent, but this— _this_ is insanity.

 

“Is this—can you communicate with your counterparts?” Yamamoto asks, feeling almost a little light-headed as he realizes what it is that Gokudera may have achieved.

 

“I can do one better than him,” Gokudera says, voice low. “I can travel and meet them myself.”

 

Yamamoto doesn’t have words, because this is far beyond what he thought was possible. To think that Gokudera has unlocked not only Byakuran’s power, but the ability to physically _travel_ across parallel universes? Isn’t there some physical law that would prevent two of the same person in one universe?

 

“What… _how_?”

 

Gokudera’s grin is mirthless. “It involves a lot more quantum physics and Bovino time travel principles than I’d care to admit,” he says. “It may also require the use of mist flames, which I haven’t yet mastered. But the point is, in theory, it will work.”

 

“In theory?”

 

Gokudera shifts between his feet, looking a little unnerved. “I was planning to start running tests next week, but my simulator has been showing some disturbing results of late. It means there’s a problem in my calculations that makes this unsafe to test, and I can’t find where I went wrong.”

 

“So you’re stuck,” Yamamoto finishes.

 

“Yeah, I am,” Gokudera finally admits. “I just… I’m sure I could figure it out, but with the Millefiore breathing down our backs, I’d feel much better if I had this ready in our arsenal when they do finally come after us.”

 

Yamamoto nods in agreement, offering a smile of encouragement. He understands Gokudera’s desperation to have this completed as soon as possible—it would absolutely be helpful to know how other parallel Vongola _famiglia_ were able to defeat Byakuran, or to be able to share information and technologies across universal boundaries—but Yamamoto has faith in their ability to fight the Millefiore as they are.

 

“You know, for as long as I’ve known you, you never cease to surprise me,” Yamamoto says, after a moment. Gokudera looks a little confused at the statement, but Yamamoto’s bright smile eases the frown lines creasing Gokudera’s forehead. “This is amazing, do you realize that? And you’re already this far along—if I know you at all, you’ll have this up and running in no time.”

 

Gokudera seems a little taken aback by the praise, but Yamamoto can tell he said something right by the way his shoulders start to relax, and the grin turns more genuine. If his eyes look like they’re a little watery, Yamamoto doesn’t call him on it.

 

“You know you can’t tell anyone about this, right?” Gokudera says, after a moment. “Not even the Tenth. Nobody can know, because if word gets out—”

 

“I won’t tell a soul,” Yamamoto promises.

 

 

 

 

 

The moment Tsuna walks back into his office, Yamamoto sees some of the tension in Gokudera’s shoulders melt away. It almost makes him jealous, but a part of him is relieved too, because he doesn’t like seeing Gokudera be so wound up. He hopes this mean Gokudera will at least try to sleep more, but he isn’t going to count on it.

 

The choked-off sound of heaving is all the warning Yamamoto gets before Bianchi follows Tsuna into the office. Gokudera has a fist pressed firmly against his mouth, and he’s hunched over in pain, but his gaze is even as he stares down his sister. She smiles, and then pulls sunglasses out of her purse. The second they’re on, Gokudera stands a little taller, straightening his suit jacket as if nothing had happened.

 

Yamamoto can’t help but grin, because the fact that some things haven’t changed—well, it’s a little uplifting, if he were to be honest with himself. Especially in light of the danger they’re all facing now.

 

“Bianchi,” Gokudera says by way of greeting.

 

“Little brother,” she replies.

 

Tsuna clears his throat with a small smile, and motions for them to sit down at the conference table on the far side of the office. As they sit down, Ryohei comes running into the office, looking harried.

 

“I’m extremely late, I’m sorry!” he exclaims, but then stops when he realizes that he isn’t the last one there. “Oh.”

 

“We’re still waiting on Lambo and Ipin,” Tsuna replies. “Chrome should be joining us, too.”

 

“And Hibari,” Gokudera adds—putting his hands up defensively at the glares he’s receiving, he says, “Hey, he said he wouldn’t try to beat anyone up this time, and we need him here. Kusakabe will be with him.”

 

It takes about ten minutes for the remaining seats at the conference table to fill up with the Guardians and their close associates (including a sullen, glaring Hibari, who ends up with Kusakabe on one side and two empty seats on the other), but when they do, everyone looks a little grimmer than Yamamoto would expect. He supposes the news of the local thugs joining forces with Millefiore and the increasing rate of attacks has spread quickly.

 

“As you likely know by now, the Millefiore have started to make their move by rapidly recruiting some of our local enemies and prompting them to attack us,” Tsuna says. Everyone seems to shift uncomfortably at that, but nobody appears surprised. “They're still testing the waters and haven't made any serious moves against us yet, but they’re on a much more accelerated schedule than we expected, based on their strategy against us in our little… _adventure_ eight years ago.”

 

“They’ve also shifted tactics on us,” Bianchi says, shifting her gaze to land directly on Gokudera. “They know we’re working on countermeasures against them, which may be part of the reason they’re changing their game plan. I think most of us already know they’ve gone directly after Gokudera a few times.” 

 

Gokudera pales at that, but doesn’t say anything yet. Yamamoto feels his heart constrict in his chest, because this is a serious breech of information, if they know that much.

 

“Wait, so you mean they _were_ intentionally targeting him?” Ryohei asks.

 

“I have it on good authority that yes, they have been,” Bianchi replies. She doesn’t elaborate where that ‘good authority’ came from, but Yamamoto has a suspicion that she used some less than savory tactics to get the information. “But that doesn’t mean all of us aren’t in danger. They could start targeting any one of us, because they know that taking any one of you Guardians out will prove to be a chink in Vongola’s armor.”

 

“They’ve had several opportunities to kill me, though,” Gokudera replies. Yamamoto shoots him a hard stare, but he pointedly ignores it. “They were more interested in information than assassination, from what I could tell.”

 

“Of course they’d rather have information first, if they can get it,” Bianchi says. “But that doesn’t mean they won’t try to kill you if they think it’ll stop your countermeasures from being completed.”

 

“Wait, Gokudera is working on countermeasures?” Ryohei asks. “What countermeasures—and since when?”

 

“Why weren’t we in the loop on this?” Lambo folds his arms defiantly over his chest.

 

“The less any of you know, the better,” Gokudera snaps.

 

“The fact that the Millefiore knew about it before you guys did, though, is not a good sign,” Tsuna says. “If information is leaking, we need to re-examine some of our alliances.”

 

“Cavallone is still good,” Gokudera replies. “Yamamoto and I have met with them directly several times recently—and once while Dino was in town a few nights back. They’re examining their own people for any potential leaks or turncoats, too.”

 

“Good, because we can’t afford to lose any of our closest allies at this stage,” Tsuna says. “Byakuran is already working on his own alliances and trying to poach law enforcement on our payroll, so we’ll need to be especially careful since we don’t know yet how far his reach extends.”

 

“The underground complex at Namimori is nearly complete—ahead of schedule,” Kusakabe says. Hibari appears to be asleep, but he gestures with his fingers to let Kusakabe know to keep talking. “We can start making preparations for accommodating our own people—and any allies—starting next week, if need be.”

 

Tsuna nods approvingly, but Gokudera frowns, adding, “We can’t only be on the defense here, though. That only makes us look weaker, which will encourage them to double their efforts. We need to make sure they respect our territory—which they _have not_ been, lately.”

 

“I don’t want to start a turf war. Not when there’s too much collateral at stake.”

 

“That’s not what I’m saying, Tenth—”

 

“Gokudera has a point.” All of their heads snap up as Reborn enters the room. Yamamoto feels his eyebrows raise in surprise, since he didn’t even know that Reborn was in Tokyo. Reborn tips his hat apologetically at his late entrance, and continues, “You can’t expect the Millefiore to simply give up if they think that all you’re going to do is bunker down and try to survive out any siege attempts. That didn’t work before, and it certainly won’t work now.”

 

“We need to be prepared defensively,” Tsuna insists.

 

“Yes, but you should know better by now, Tsuna—the best defense is a good offense,” Reborn replies. “They’ll never stop trying to destroy Vongola as long as we exist. If you want to avoid a similar outcome to the one we saw, you’ll need to make sure you meet them head on.”

 

Tsuna releases a huff of air irritably, but he visibly crumples under Reborn’s stern gaze. “Okay, then—we will put our men on alert. I think this would be far easier if we ensured that our alliances are still intact first, though.”

 

Reborn nods in agreement.

 

The meeting doesn’t last long after that, and once Gokudera delegates their task list, everyone filters out of the room. Yamamoto stands to leave, but lingers at the door to Tsuna’s office once he sees that Gokudera hasn’t moved—and neither has Reborn.

 

“Gokudera, I need to speak with you in private,” Reborn is saying. Gokudera doesn’t look that surprised as he simply grunts in agreement. His gaze meets Yamamoto’s, and Yamamoto nods, mouthing, _Dinner later?_

 

Gokudera nods back. With a mirthless smile, Yamamoto exits. He’ll be surprised if Gokudera makes good on that promise.

 

 

 

 

 

Yamamoto knows better than to hope, but he sets the table for two anyway. He made cold soba with pickled vegetables, something that wouldn’t need to be re-heated in case Gokudera came in too late to eat with him, and watches the clock. At eight, he tells himself, he’s eating with or without Gokudera, and settles down to watch the baseball game in the meantime.

 

At a quarter until eight, Yamamoto is surprised when he hears the apartment door open.

 

“Hey,” he says over his shoulder. “You’re just in time for dinner.”

 

Yamamoto hears Gokudera set his keys down on the counter. “I hope I didn’t make you wait too long.”

 

“Nah,” Yamamoto replies. “Only an hour.”

 

“ _Takeshi_ —”

 

“Kidding,” Yamamoto says with a light laugh, standing and stretching. “It’s been ready for about ten minutes. I made some cold soba, just the way you like it.”

 

The laugh dies in the back of his throat when he gets a better look at Gokudera, though. Gokudera looks _exhausted_ , and suddenly it makes Yamamoto feel like a jerk for even thinking about messing with him.

 

“You okay?” he asks, carefully.

 

Gokudera doesn’t meet his eyes, but he nods. “Yeah,” he says, uncertainly. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

 

He wonders what Reborn had to say, but he knows better than to ask. Instead, he pulls Gokudera’s chair out at the table for him and motions for him to sit.

 

“You should know better than to lie to me,” Yamamoto says instead, but when Gokudera opens his mouth to protest, he adds quickly, “I’m not asking what Reborn talked to you about. I just want you to know that I’m here. … Just in case you need me.”

 

For a moment, Gokudera almost looks like he wants to cry, but then he visibly steels himself and manages a wobbly smile. Before he even processes what he’s doing, Yamamoto reaches forward and pulls Gokudera into a tight hug. Gokudera’s shoulders stiffen at first, but then relax as he slowly returns the embrace, his hands gripping Yamamoto’s back like a sudden lifeline.

 

They stay like that quietly for a few moments, until Gokudera finally whispers, “Thank you,” into Yamamoto’s shoulder, the words muffled. Yamamoto presses a gentle kiss to the top of Gokudera’s head.

 

While the fragile edges of Gokudera’s mood don’t fade entirely during dinner, Yamamoto is glad that he at least seems a little less bogged down by the time they clean up dinner, shower, and crawl into bed.

 

 

 

 

 

The insistent buzzing of his cell phone on the dresser pulls Yamamoto groggily out of a deep rest. He rolls away from Gokudera’s warm back and grabs the phone, tapping the button on the side to silence the vibrations. Blinking blearily at the lighted screen, Yamamoto sees Tsuna’s caller ID and quietly rolls out of bed, padding to the kitchen before he answers it.

 

“Tsuna—what’s going on?” He peers at the microwave clock, which reads just past three in the morning. This can’t be good.

 

“ _Yamamoto—I’m sorry to wake you, but can you come meet me in my office? We have a problem.”_ Tsuna sounds almost as apologetic as he does exhausted, and it makes Yamamoto’s chest constrict with worry. _“I’d rather not discuss this over the phone.”_

 

“Yeah, sure—let me get dressed. I’ll be right there.” Yamamoto rubs his hand over his face, a little surprised that Tsuna hadn’t called Gokudera instead. Biting his lip, he asks, “Do you want me to bring Gokudera?”

 

“ _If he’s awake. Otherwise, let him keep sleeping—he looked wiped out at the meeting._ ”

 

Yamamoto nods, then remembers he’s on the phone. “Okay. I’ll see you soon.”

 

He disconnects the call and goes back into the bedroom, noticing that Gokudera hasn’t stirred. Groping around in the dark for pants and a t-shirt, he finds one of each and pulls on both before dragging himself to the bathroom. After he’s relieved himself and splashed water on his face, he blinks at his reflection in the mirror for a full minute before he realizes he’s wearing one of Gokudera’s t-shirts.

 

_No wonder it felt a little tight_ , he muses with a grin, and quietly exits the bathroom. 

 

Just as he’s setting foot outside the bedroom, he hears a grunt and a groggy, “Takeshi? Where are you going?”

 

Pursing his lips, he says quietly, “Go back to sleep. I’ll be right back.”

 

There’s a muffled rustling of sheets, and then, more lucidly: “What’s wrong? It’s three fifteen in the morning.”

 

Yamamoto resists the urge to sigh—there isn’t a chance in the world that Gokudera will actually go back to sleep now. “Tsuna called, says we have a problem.”

 

Gokudera almost sounds hurt when he says, “He called you instead of me?”

 

“He didn’t want to disturb your sleep—he says you looked like you needed it.” Gokudera snorts at that and sits up, rubbing his eyes. With a sigh, Yamamoto says, “Well, if you’re not going to go back to sleep, you should come with me.”

 

“I thought I wasn’t invited,” Gokudera huffs, flicking on the light next to the bed.

 

“Only if you were sleeping.” Yamamoto smiles. “Come on.”

 

Gokudera makes a face as he stretches, then pulls himself out of bed, looking around for something to wear. Glancing up at Yamamoto, he frowns. “Isn’t that my t-shirt?”

 

“Haha, sorry,” Yamamoto laughs apologetically. “Grabbed it in the dark.”

 

Gokudera has a shirt halfway over his head when he grunts appreciatively. “Looks good on you. Now stop staring and go grab my laptop.”

 

Yamamoto’s ears heat with warm appreciation, and his grin broadens as he complies.

 

Ten minutes later, and they’re both standing in Tsuna’s office in front of his desk. Tsuna’s on the phone when they enter, so he motions to the pot of coffee brewing at the side of the room. Gokudera fills himself a mug and offers one to Yamamoto, who grimaces as he realizes this probably means they won’t be going back to sleep any time soon.

 

When Tsuna hangs up the phone, he looks at both of them with a serious expression on his face. He looks exhausted, and Yamamoto feels a pang of pity when he remembers that Tsuna is probably still jet lagged from his trip to Italy—and hasn’t had much time to spend with his new fiancée, either.

 

“Lambo left for a reconnaissance assignment just after our meeting yesterday,” Tsuna begins, then hesitates, taking a deep breath. “He returned just after midnight, but he’s been hurt. Badly. They’re still working on him in surgery.”

 

The news hits Yamamoto like a sucker punch to the gut. Lambo may not be the small child he once was, but he’s still young—and in some ways, Yamamoto sees him as a younger brother. Gokudera looks almost sick at the news, too.

 

“What happened?” Yamamoto asks. “Do you think they targeted him because he’s a Guardian?”

 

“We’re still not quite sure,” Tsuna replies sadly. “Ipin was with him, but she hasn’t checked back in yet. Not after she brought Lambo back here and disappeared.”

 

“Ipin is still out there?” Gokudera runs his hand through his hair. “Does she have any backup?”

 

“Chrome left an hour ago, though I haven’t heard from her yet, either.” Tsuna looks at Yamamoto. “They were scoping out our warehouses on the southern docks that we thought might be compromised.”

 

Yamamoto grimaces. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that the territory was under siege by their enemy, but it still doesn’t bode well that Lambo was hurt for it while he was doing recon. Not only does it all but confirm that they’ve lost that territory, but it means that they’ve increased security, too.

 

“We know the Solntsevskaya brotherhood was active in that area recently,” Yamamoto says. “Do you think they might’ve had something to do with the attack?”

 

“I haven’t heard any details, but that’s definitely a possibility,” Tsuna replies. “Considering their more recent alliance with the Millefiore, it would make sense.”

 

Gokudera is turning his mug of coffee slowly in his hands when he suddenly says, “They probably want retribution for the human trafficking ring we shut down a while back when we took on their Jopok allies. That was a major source of their income from this region.”

 

“Well, considering that we were using the warehouse for black market weapons, that might be what they’re aiming to work towards now,” Yamamoto points out. “That doesn’t bode well, either.”

 

There’s a sudden knock at Tsuna’s office door, and Gokudera and Yamamoto both move in front of Tsuna’s desk protectively in instinct. 

 

“Come in,” Tsuna says.

 

The door opens to reveal a disheveled and exhausted-looking Ipin, trailed closely by Chrome. Yamamoto relaxes, but notices that Gokudera’s watching Chrome very closely.

 

“Ipin,” Tsuna greets. “And Mukuro—it’s been a while.”

 

Yamamoto turns with a raised eyebrow in Gokudera’s direction, then he sees the weird grin stretching across Chrome’s face as Mist flames suddenly surround her body, revealing a much taller _male_ suddenly standing in her place. Yamamoto then understands Gokudera’s tension.

 

“Tsuna, my old friend,” Mukuro greets with a bow, ushering Ipin forward. “I would expect no less of you.”

 

Gokudera doesn’t take his eyes off Mukuro, so Yamamoto guides Ipin carefully into a nearby seat. She takes it gratefully with a tired smile in Yamamoto’s direction.

 

“Thank you for returning Ipin to us,” Tsuna says guardedly, “but you probably know that I sent Chrome to back her up. Where is she?”

 

“Don’t worry, she’s fine,” Mukuro says smoothly. “She’s keeping an eye on the situation at the docks, for now.”

 

“For now?” Gokudera asks.

 

“Until she goes in, of course. I gave her a mission.” Mukuro turns his unnerving smile to Gokudera. “She is to find the traitor who turned the warehouse against us, and eliminate him.”

 

“Those weren’t my orders, Mukuro,” Tsuna says, warningly.

 

“Oh don’t worry, they won’t even know the traitor’s gone,” Mukuro replies. “She’s going to take his place for a while. I’m here in her stead as a Guardian.”

 

Gokudera tenses, growling, “What gives you the right to start calling shots? I thought you wanted Tsuna gone.”

 

“Oh no, that’s still the plan—all in good time, Storm Guardian. No need to get your hackles up now.”

 

“What are you playing at?”

 

A shiver travels down Yamamoto’s spine as Mukuro meets his gaze. “Luckily for you, I hate the Millefiore more than I hate Vongola. So for now—what’s that saying? ‘ _The enemy of my enemy is my friend._ ’ Or something like that.” 

 

Gokudera and Yamamoto exchange uneasy glances, but before either one of them responds, Tsuna says, “I hope you’re willing to put that in writing.”

 

“Now we’re talking business,” Mukuro says, grinning.

 

 

 

 

 

The alliance with Mukuro has proven to be a fruitful one, even though everyone—Yamamoto included—feels on edge with the agreement. While Gokudera would never admit it, Mukuro’s plan to have Chrome double as their previous traitor has garnered them more information and insight into their enemies’ movements than they could ever have hoped for. Although they haven’t quite had the information they’d need to fully take down Byakuran—that kind of information wouldn’t cycle through a simple arms warehouse—they’re able to confirm Byakuran’s presence in Tokyo within two weeks of Chrome’s undercover assignment.

 

They’re also able to compile a list of potential targets—some of Byakuran’s key players. While Tsuna doesn’t like Gokudera’s insistence on eliminating some of these targets at the earliest opportunities, he doesn’t stop Gokudera’s plans. Gokudera, in turn, promises only to go after targets that will have the most negative impact on the Millefiore’s operations.

 

One such target owns a mansion on the outskirts of Yokohama—and Gokudera, with regret in his eyes, hands Yamamoto the file one afternoon. He flips through the stack of images and schedules, realizing that the Millefiore are hiding something major at the facility.

 

“Can you manage it?” Gokudera asks, as Yamamoto closes the file.

 

Yamamoto meets Gokudera’s gaze evenly, and can tell that sending Yamamoto on an assassination mission is the _last_ thing he wants to do. But he wouldn’t ask if this wasn’t important, so Yamamoto doesn’t really have a choice—he nods.

 

“Yeah. Do you have a deadline?”

 

“They have a meeting with Chrome next Saturday—you’ll have to pretend to go after her too to ensure her cover stays intact, but it’s the best opportunity we’ve got.”

 

“I’m on it.”

 

As he turns to leave Gokudera’s office, he feels Gokudera’s hand suddenly fisted in his sleeve. Turning, he waits as Gokudera works up the words to speak.

 

“Please be careful,” Gokudera says finally, after a moment.

 

Yamamoto laughs humorlessly. “Aren’t I always?”

 

“I mean it, idiot. Don’t come back injured.”

 

“I won’t,” Yamamoto promises.

 

 

 

 

 

It’s been a while since Yamamoto has been on an assignment that isn’t for recon, but the basics fall back into place—about like picking up riding a bike again after many years. Not that he _likes_ being particularly good at this line of work, but if this is what it takes to protect his famiglia… well. This is something he _can_ do.

 

He’d studied the layout of the mansion grounds carefully, taking note of the rotating guard schedules and security camera locations. Moving carefully to avoid detection, he manages to slip through first the outer gate, and then along the back gardens to an inner wall. Waiting until he knows he has a clear moment, he scales the wall and silently drops to the other side, sticking to the shadows as he picks his way over to the back side of the main building on the estate. There’s a conference room at the east end with a patio overlooking a Zen garden—that’s where the meeting is scheduled to take place.

 

It’s currently empty, so he finds a vantage point out of sight of the cameras (and the average guard) where he can monitor the comings and goings of other guests at the meeting.

 

Ten minutes before the meeting is scheduled to start, Yamamoto sees Chrome—or, rather, the man she’s supposedly disguised as. She enters with an unsuspecting entourage, taking their seats at one side of the large conference table in the center of the room. Shortly after they enter, two other groups arrive, and then the mansion’s owner—Yamamoto’s target—strolls into the room with two personal bodyguards and a secretary.

 

Yamamoto doesn’t have the equipment on him to scope out what’s being said (he hopes Chrome can fill them in on any of the important details), but that isn’t his job here. He waits until close to the end of the meeting, when the crowd begins to thin out—only the mansion owner’s party and Chrome’s delegation remains.

 

Dropping down quietly, he takes a deep breath, pulls the face mask over his mouth and nose (Gokudera had insisted on the discretion), and immediately takes out the mansion’s owner with a throwing knife to the back of his skull.

 

All chaos breaks loose.

 

Yamamoto dodges a barrage of bullets by ducking behind the side of the conference room, the wood near his face splintering with a few close calls. As soon as there’s a pause, Yamamoto whips around the wall and shoots a few bullets into the fray before he draws his sword in one fluid motion. This part—this is familiar territory.

 

The first person who comes within striking range gets run through. Yamamoto leaves the sword in place and uses the body as a shield as he darts between covers, moving towards the wall by the back gardens and shooting over the dead man’s shoulder when he gets an opening. Once he finds an opening, he drags the body behind a tree at the wall’s base and jerks his sword free from his dead meat shield and ditches the body.

 

He checks the ammunition in his glock before taking a peek around the trunk of the tree, gauging if he has enough time to scale up the wall before he’s discovered.

 

And suddenly, he sees _himself_ running back in the direction of the main building, taking very familiar, fluid swipes at enemies with a sword covered in blue flames. 

 

_… What._

 

Yamamoto looks down at the (very much flame-less) sword, and pats his face, arms, and pinches his own cheek to make sure he’s still alive. Everything seems to be in place, but when he looks up, he almost shoots the person in front of him—until he realizes it’s the man that Chrome is disguised as.

 

“Oh,” he says. “ _Oh_.”

 

The man raises an eyebrow, but says in Chrome’s voice, “There’s a workshop in the west side of the estate that they’re not letting me see. I think you should check it out while I’ve got them sidetracked. I don’t know how long I’ll be able to hold them off, so do it fast.”

 

“Will you be okay?” he asks, even though he already knows the answer to that.

 

“I’ve got you covered,” she says with a grin, and then she turns and takes off after Yamamoto’s doppelgänger. “Go!”

 

Yamamoto doesn’t hesitate, and waits until she’s gone before he stays in the shadow of the wall and makes his way to the west side of the estate.

 

There are several security cameras on this side of the property, but Yamamoto sees them from far enough off that he’s able to avoid their lines of sight. It doesn’t look like anyone is actively guarding the exterior, though he’s guessing just about every spare man they have is fighting his mist clone right now. He isn’t going to take any chances, and carefully, he sneaks up to the nearest door and quietly tests the knob. It won’t budge, so he pulls out a set of lock picks and quickly works to unlock it. (Gokudera would be proud of how quickly he’s learned this set of tricks.)

 

He only opens the door a crack so he can peer into the dimly-lit open space. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust, but he manages to make out someone hard at work over what looks like papers at a nearby work table. On the far end of the wide open space, there’s a large machine—

 

Yamamoto’s brain takes a matter of seconds before he realizes what he’s looking at.

 

It’s an almost exact replica of what Gokudera has down in his lab, though it looks more lotus than half-dome, which means they’re not nearly as far along yet.

 

The first question in Yamamoto’s mind is, _How?_ But there’s a sick, burbling feeling in Yamamoto’s gut that tells him he knows _exactly_ how they got that information, and it took over a year for Gokudera to really start to come back from that mess. He latches onto the knot in his stomach and allows it to heat, boiling his blood and bleeding red into his vision as he reaches into his inner coat pocket for a small device that he wasn’t ever planning to use. The grenade is about the size of a pen, but he’s been assured that it’ll easily do as much damage as its military-grade siblings.

 

Explosives aren’t his style, really—they’re more Gokudera’s forte—but considering what this is about, he figures that this is an appropriate use for it.

 

Clicking the switch, he tosses it through the small opening in the door, and then turns and sprints towards the wall he’d previously planned to scale to make his escape. The force of the explosion knocks him into the wall, but he quickly recovers and climbs the tree he’d previously sought refuge behind, jumping over the wall from one of the higher branches. He knows he doesn’t have a lot of time before they realize what has happened and come take a look at the now-decimated workshop, so he doesn’t waste any time observing the damage—he sprints through the gardens and quickly scales over the back outer wall, taking every zig-zagging alleyway and back street he can think of to make sure he doesn’t have a tail.

 

He’s still a few miles away from the Vongola estate before he ducks into a train station restroom and pulls out his phone to relay information before it can get stale. As it’s ringing, he manages to catch a look at himself in the mirror over the sink, and winces—he’s got a bloody nose from being knocked into the wall, and there are dirty scratches all over his face, so he turns on the water and starts scrubbing at the worst of it with one hand.

 

Gokudera picks up on the other end with a worried, _“Is everything all right?”_

 

“No,” he says bluntly. “Call a meeting, and I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

 

There’s a pause. _“Be careful,”_ is all Gokudera says before he hangs up.

 

With a sigh, Yamamoto ends the call and slides his phone into his pocket, then takes another two minutes to clean up his face before Gokudera truly blows a gasket at him for breaking his promise not to get hurt. Then he realizes that Gokudera is going to blow a gasket either way, because the information Yamamoto now carries is not going to go over well.

 

 

 

 

 

Gokudera _doesn’t_ blow a gasket, surprisingly.

 

Well, maybe not so surprising, once Gokudera explains why he isn’t terribly shocked. They’d had his plans in hand for a while during his time in the hands of the Solntsevskaya brotherhood, after all—even if they couldn’t read the text, it didn’t mean they couldn’t determine what the drawings were for. Gokudera thinks it’s likely that they made copies.

 

“Do you think they deciphered G-Script?” Yamamoto asks, pressing an ice pack to the bruised bridge of his nose as he sits on one edge of the sofa in Gokudera’s office.

 

“Unlikely,” Gokudera says, “but not outside the realm of possibility. It really depends on how good their intelligence team is.”

 

“It’s good that you were able to destroy the machine,” Tsuna adds. “That may help slow their progress down somewhat.”

 

“With all due respect, I don’t think it would have mattered either way,” Gokudera replies. “They probably have another one or two of the same structures being built elsewhere; if they don’t, they’re idiots.”

 

Yamamoto raises an eyebrow at Gokudera— _don’t you have just the one in the lab?_ —and Gokudera shrugs off the look.

 

“I wouldn’t be too worried just yet, unless they really have figured out G-Script,” Gokudera continues. “Even then, we’d only lose the advantage, not allow them to gain one over us.”

 

_That’s an awfully generous way of looking at several years of your hard work going out the window,_ Yamamoto thinks, but doesn’t say it aloud. At least, not in Tsuna’s presence.

 

“Still, we need every advantage we can get,” Tsuna says. “I’d rather not lose this one, if we’re still able to salvage it. Yamamoto-kun, do you think you can gather more intel on any other potential projects like the one you destroyed?”

 

Yamamoto nods. “I’ll get a team together, since I don’t think I could cover all the ground myself. We’ll have to check in on known allies of the Millefiore as well, which may mean some international travel.”

 

“I’ll approve the requests once they come through,” Tsuna says. “Let me know if you need any passports or visas expedited, and we can check through our usual channels.”

 

Yamamoto nods at him in thanks.

 

“About Chrome—” Tsuna starts, but Yamamoto cuts him off.

 

“Her cover is still intact,” he says. “I saw her—rather, her cover persona—while I was there.”

 

Tsuna shakes his head. “Actually, Mukuro was in contact with me again recently; he’s recalling her services.”

 

“What— _why_?” Gokudera asks, irritably. “Her information has been invaluable so far.”

 

Tsuna shrugs and says, “He didn’t exactly say why, but he implied that he’s still in alignment with our goals. … For now,” Tsuna adds at the displeased look Gokudera’s giving him. “You may need to stage an assassination to get her out, since the man she’s impersonating is already dead.”

 

Gokudera folds his arms—he doesn’t like it, but he’s unlikely to turn down a request from Tsuna directly. “That part shouldn’t be so difficult. We can also set up a mission to slip in the original body so that the coroner can accurately confirm his death,” Gokudera says. “We’ll just have to make sure the staged assassination has the same cause of death.”

 

“I’ll leave the details to you,” Tsuna replies. “Keep me in the loop on the progress so I know when to communicate with Mukuro next.”

 

Gokudera inclines his head. “Yes, Tenth.”

 

A knock on the door has Tsuna looking at his watch. With a sigh, he stands. “Looks like it’s about time to head to my next meeting. Yamamoto, Gokudera—good luck, and _be careful_. Let me know if you need me for anything,” he says.

 

Yamamoto and Gokudera take turns shaking his hand, and Tsuna opens Gokudera’s office door to reveal his assistant.

 

After Tsuna is gone, Gokudera sinks back down into his chair with a grunt.

 

“You should go get some rest,” Gokudera says, looking up at Yamamoto sympathetically. “You look like you’re about to drop.”

 

“Haha, that bad?” Yamamoto replies, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly.

 

“Also, I thought you said you wouldn’t come back injured.” Gokudera folds his arms again.

 

Resisting the urge to rub at his bruised nose, Yamamoto chuckles. “It’s just a bruise—I was a little too close to the explosion, and it shoved me face-first into a wall.”

 

“Is that so,” Gokudera says flatly, and Yamamoto suddenly gets the feeling that he’s not getting anywhere with this argument.

 

“Ahaha…”

 

“Go get some sleep, idiot. I’ll come check in on you around dinner time and see if you’re conscious enough for a meal.”

 

Yamamoto grins gratefully. “I’ll see you later, then,” he says, leaning forward to press a kiss to Gokudera’s forehead before he leaves.

 

 

 

 

 

Yamamoto vaguely recalls gentle hands on his shoulders, shaking him awake from his flopped-over position on the couch. Someone is talking to him in a low voice, and all he can decipher is, “Bed?” so he responds with a hum. The same hands guide him to an upright position, and then shove him along to the bedroom. The voice mentions something about a lab, but once Yamamoto’s face meets his own pillow, he doesn’t even remember if he responds before he’s out again.

 

 

 

 

 

Yamamoto wakes in increments of awareness.

 

The first sensation he’s aware of is a soft breeze brushing across his face, followed swiftly by warm beams of sunlight, filtered only by glass and screen and thin curtains.

 

The next is a heavy weight pressed against the curve of his shoulder, and delicate fingers gently twisting strands of his hair, occasionally pressing into his scalp in soothing circles.

 

The last sensation before he wakes entirely is the low hum of a familiar voice, speaking words he only vaguely understands. And then, when Yamamoto suddenly recalls that he fell asleep alone, he snaps out of the lull of relaxed sleep.

 

He doesn’t dare move, but the fingers pause against his scalp anyway. The voice doesn’t pause, though, and it’s then that Yamamoto realizes Gokudera is speaking over the phone in hushed Italian. He only catches a few words here and there, not enough to piece together the whole conversation, but when he looks up to see Gokudera contentedly grinning down at him, Gokudera suddenly responds to the speaker on the other end of the line in clear, precise Japanese.

 

“I couldn’t be happier,” he says, meeting Yamamoto’s gaze straight on.

 

A delicate and fluttery feeling steals the breath straight from Yamamoto’s lungs, and he can’t help but reciprocate the broad smile aimed at him. The moment’s broken when suddenly the speaker on the other end of the line says something that replaces Gokudera’s grin with a scowl and has him sputtering, neck and ears and cheeks splotching red.

 

“ _Bianchi!_ ” he hisses, and Yamamoto’s grin turns wolfish, because he might have some idea of why Gokudera has suddenly become so flustered. “That’s why I never tell you anything— _no_ , that’s none of your damn business!” A too-long pause, and then, “See you on Thursday, then. Don’t be late.”

 

He viciously taps his phone’s screen to end the call and flings it on the nightstand irritably, withdrawing his fingers from Yamamoto’s hair with the motion. Yamamoto has to suppress the groan at the loss of the comforting touch, but when Gokudera moves to get out of the bed, Yamamoto rolls over onto his shoulder and wraps his arm around Gokudera’s waist.

 

“And where do you think you’re going?” he asks, pressing his face into Gokudera’s side.

 

“Get off, you big lunk,” Gokudera replies with a half-hearted shove. “We need breakfast and coffee, so that’s what I’m going to go make.”

 

Yamamoto’s stomach growls in response, and he grins sheepishly.

 

“See? This is why I’m the brains of the operation here,” Gokudera scoffs lightly, flinching when Yamamoto nuzzles closer to his side and snorts, tickling the exposed skin between his t-shirt and the waistband of his sweatpants. “Hey, up.”

 

Yamamoto shakes his head, his nose still firmly pressed into Gokudera’s hip. “Couldn’t be happier, huh?” he says, even though he knows he’s toeing the line with Gokudera by pointing it out. “About what?”

 

Gokudera snorts this time. “None of your business.”

 

He flinches again when Yamamoto deliberately blows a puff of air against his sensitive side. “Didn’t look like that to me.”

 

“Hey, cut that out. You know exactly what I was talking about, idiot.”

 

Yamamoto grins and presses a kiss into the scar that’s just above Gokudera’s hip. “I know, I just like to hear you say it once in a while, is all.”

 

Gokudera’s hands push half-heartedly against Yamamoto’s shoulders. “Damn it, Takeshi, you _know_ that tickles—”

 

“It’s technically my scar, I can do with it what I want,” Yamamoto says, pressing another kiss into the thin line of raised skin.

 

With a sigh, the little bit of fight bleeds straight out of Gokudera, and he runs a hand through Yamamoto’s hair gently. “Look, as tempting as it is to laze around, we both have a meeting in about an hour, and you’ll have to start putting your recon team together after that. You need breakfast, and so do I.”

 

Yamamoto knows that he really should do the responsible thing and get up, _but where’s the fun in that_ , he thinks.

 

“Plus, I have something cool to show you,” Gokudera adds, almost as if it’s an afterthought. “But it’ll have to wait until after.”

 

Yamamoto’s eyes snap to Gokudera’s face, and there’s a hint of a cocky smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Yamamoto can’t help but grin back, trying not to let his mind dwell on what kind of surprise Gokudera has up his sleeve. Gokudera takes advantage of the momentary lapse in Yamamoto’s concentration, and in one smooth motion, unwraps Yamamoto’s arms from his waist and rolls cleanly out of the bed. Yamamoto whines as his face lands into the warm spot on the mattress that Gokudera previously occupied.

 

“Come on, you big baby. Let’s go,” Gokudera says, tugging on Yamamoto’s shirt collar.

 

 

 

 

 

Later that afternoon, after Yamamoto sets up a briefing meeting for the following day with the newly-assembled recon team, Gokudera knocks on the door to Yamamoto’s office. Yamamoto can’t help but smile as he enters.

 

“Hey, what’s your schedule like for the rest of the afternoon?” Gokudera asks.

 

Yamamoto peeks down at his calendar on his desk. “I have a phone call to make, and I was planning to visit Lambo in the hospital, but after that I have a few hours open before I have to run a few errands—what’s up?”

 

“Well, I promised you that I had something cool to show you,” Gokudera says, and Yamamoto can feel the grin spreading broadly across his face with his growing excitement. “I figured this afternoon would be as good as any time. If you’re interested.”

 

Yamamoto chuckles. “When haven’t I been interested?”

 

“Great. I’ll go with you to see Lambo, then we can go straight to the lab from there, if that’s cool. I’ve been meaning to visit him while he’s laid up and haven’t had a chance to yet.”

 

“Sounds perfect.”

 

Gokudera’s bright smile sends a shot of warmth straight down Yamamoto’s spine.

 

 

 

 

 

The visit to Lambo goes about as awkwardly as Yamamoto has ever seen it go—he’s not sure what happened between Lambo and Gokudera that has their relationship so suddenly strained. Well, aside from the debacle with the Bovino family nearly getting annihilated during their last visit, though Yamamoto was pretty sure that issue had been cleared up… He makes a note to ask Gokudera about it later, maybe after dinner, or when he’s more pliant— 

 

He suddenly realizes that Gokudera is leading them to his lab. There’s a small thrill of excitement shooting through Yamamoto’s chest, because now he knows for sure that “something cool” is likely Gokudera-speak for “I finally got it to work.” His quiet theory proves to be right on the mark when Gokudera marches him up to the half-dome machine on one end of the lab and hands him a pair of safety glasses. Yamamoto has to crane his neck to see the top of the machine, though it still fits snugly in the room with a little space to spare between the top and the ceiling.

 

“I think you probably guessed what this is about,” Gokudera says as he walks up to the control panel to the side of the machine, “but just so you know, this will be the first official test—outside of the simulators, of course.”

 

Yamamoto can’t help but smile so widely that his cheeks start to hurt. “I knew you could do it,” he says proudly.

 

“Hey now, I haven’t confirmed anything yet—just that the simulator is consistently showing signs of success now,” Gokudera replies. He looks away sheepishly, his cheeks turning slightly pink as he adds, “But I wanted to make sure you were with me when I did try it out.”

 

It’s probably not physically possible, but Yamamoto’s grin widens even further. “I would be honored,” he says.

 

Gokudera smiles softly in return, and then motions for Yamamoto to come join him at the control panel on the side. “Put those on,” he orders, pointing at the safety glasses as he slides a second pair on his own face. Yamamoto follows suit. “Now I know you’re not going to like this, but for this test, I will need you to man the control panel here, while I… while I make the first trip. Ah—” Gokudera presses a finger to Yamamoto’s lips when he opens them to protest, “I know. But in case something doesn’t quite work correctly on the machine’s control panel, I will need you to be able to bring it back manually here.” He motions to a set of controls that are labeled _Recall_.

 

“How will I know that something’s gone wrong?” Yamamoto asks.

 

Gokudera pulls out two kitchen timers and rotates them simultaneously, setting them for thirty-three minutes. Once they’re set, he checks them both against his watch.

 

“Since I haven’t yet figured out a good way to communicate across universes, I’m setting two timers—one for you, one that goes with me. If I’m not back by the time it goes off, you should recall the machine, here,” Gokudera gestures to a button next to a keyhole, and then holds up a key. “It’ll only work if you have this key inserted, though.” He presses the key into Yamamoto’s palm along with one of the timers. “The timers will also assist in a test to see if time passes simultaneously in both universes. Not necessarily an issue if they don’t match up in this test, but it’ll be good to know for future trips.”

 

The logic makes sense, so Yamamoto nods in understanding. 

 

“Oh, and one more thing; in the unlikely case that someone who looks like me—but isn’t—comes back, you should immediately ask a question to make sure it’s me. Something that only I would know about.”

 

“Shouldn’t we come up with a coded phrase in advance?” Yamamoto asks.

 

A dark look crosses Gokudera’s face as he replies, “In case someone finds me and is able to get the information out of me, it’s probably best for you to just wing it. We don’t know what kind of people are in these other universes, after all. They could’ve evolved telepathy!”

 

Yamamoto ignores the lame attempt to lighten the mood, but doesn’t press the issue and simply nods again. Gokudera starts to climb into the middle of the machine through a gap in the side. “Are you taking your ring boxes with you? Just in case?”

 

Smirking over his shoulder, Gokudera opens the side of his coat to show that the inner lining is covered in boxes. “You should know me better than that by now, Takeshi.”

 

With a grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, Yamamoto replies, “I think I do know you well enough—be careful.”

 

“This is just a test, Takeshi—I’ll be fine,” Gokudera says with a grin of his own, before he disappears inside. His voice floats out from the interior to add, “You should probably stand over by the panel now. I’m going to adjust the settings in here and get the barrier set up, but just in case, be ready to duck.”

 

“Roger that,” Yamamoto calls back, and goes to stand behind the exterior control panel.

 

There are a few beeps and whirs, a translucent shield of dying will flames coats the dome, and suddenly parts of the exterior of the machine begin moving. Yamamoto catches a glimpse of Gokudera through the moving gap in the side panels of the dome.

 

“See you on the other side,” Gokudera says with a wave.

 

The exterior of the dome rapidly spins until there’s a flash of light so bright that it has Yamamoto shielding his eyes even with the safety glasses, and when it finally dies down enough to see, all that’s left of the machine is its base. The dome is gone—and so is Gokudera.

 

 

 

 

 

It’s the longest thirty minutes of Yamamoto’s life, sitting in the eerily silent lab (which is now also mostly-empty, with the machine gone). By the time he comes up with a question to ask upon Gokudera’s return, he feels like it took him too long to think of something—and then he finally glances at the timer for the first time. _Five minutes. … This is going to be a long wait._  

 

Fifteen minutes after Gokudera’s departure, and he’s already got the key in place, just in case. He knows that staring at the timer isn’t going to help his case at all, but he can’t seem to keep himself from checking every few minutes just to see if he’s any closer to having to hit the _Recall_ button.

 

He wonders what it’s like, wherever Gokudera ended up taking himself to. There are some readouts on the control panel, but they don’t make much sense—several dates, a few phrases in G-Script (even the machine’s been coded, he realizes), and a couple of other settings he doesn’t quite understand. There’s nothing to clue him into where Gokudera decided to go for this first test.

 

Checking the timer again ( _sixteen_ minutes now), he berates himself and starts fiddling with his safety glasses, clearing off smudges and fingerprints, going through his errands checklist and thinking about what to make for dinner while he waits. He almost thinks he’s managed to successfully waste several more minutes, but a quick peek at the timer ( _eighteen_ minutes) has him nearly chucking it across the room in irritation—and the thought makes him chuckle, since he knows it has to be Gokudera rubbing off on him.

 

Before the worry sinks back in at the thought of Gokudera, there’s another flash and a loud _bang_ from the direction of the empty platform that has Yamamoto flinging himself down behind the control panel. When the sparks stop flying and the bright light dies down, Yamamoto waits until he hears the machine’s noises reduce to a soft hiss before he peeks out from behind the control panel.

 

“H-Hayato…?” he calls out cautiously.

 

Gokudera’s head emerges out from the side panel—he looks uninjured, from what Yamamoto can tell at a glance—and there’s a strange look on his face. Suddenly, Yamamoto remembers what Gokudera had told him to do earlier, so he stands up fully.

 

“Stay right there,” he says, voice low as his mind races. “What was the last thing you said before you left?”

 

Gokudera’s eyes widen, but then a soft smile crosses his face. “I’m glad you remembered to ask something, though I think you could’ve picked a better question. I believe I said, ‘See you on the other side,’ didn’t I?”

 

Yamamoto breathes a sigh of relief, shoulders releasing tension he didn’t realize was there before letting his own grin broaden as he comes out from behind the control panel. “Sorry, it was the only question I could think of that wouldn’t make you embarrassed, haha.” Gokudera holds out a hand for Yamamoto’s timer, and Yamamoto hands it over. Comparing them, Gokudera grunts and starts walking away.

 

“So—I’m guessing it worked?” Yamamoto asks excitedly, following as Gokudera walks over to his office to take some notes.

 

“Yeah—yeah it did,” Gokudera replies, which makes Yamamoto surprised at the flat response.

 

“But…?”

 

Gokudera’s eyes look up from his notes questioningly. “Hm? But what?”

 

“Isn’t that great news? You don’t seem all that excited,” Yamamoto warily says. 

 

“Oh, I am—but there are some adjustments I’m going to have to make before this will really be useful,” he replies. “At least we know the theories are sound now, though. … What?”

 

Yamamoto shrugs, and tries to wipe the skeptical look off his face. “Nothing,” he says, forcing a grin. “So, what do you want to do for dinner? We should probably do something awesome to celebrate, don’t you think? I can pick something up while I’m out running errands.”

 

“Yeah, that sounds great,” Gokudera responds with a smile.

 

Yamamoto plants a messy kiss on Gokudera’s cheek before he turns to leave (mostly because he knows Gokudera hates it when he does that). “I’ll see you later, then!”

 

“ _Ugh_ , gross,” Gokudera mutters, wiping the spit off his face. “I’ll be at the apartment by the time you get back, then.”

 

Yamamoto waves and turns. His grin fades once he’s out of the lab, because Gokudera’s smile told him everything—something didn’t quite go right with the test that he isn’t willing to share. _Yet_ , Yamamoto chides himself. _I’ll get it out of him later._

 

 

 

 

 

It’s dark by the time Yamamoto returns from running errands, which consisted of dropping off files to members of his recon team, grabbing a couple of comic books for Lambo, picking up a new whetstone for his sword and some other miscellaneous supplies for the apartment, and then grabbing take out. He fumbles with the keys to the apartment with his arms full, and pauses when he hears talking on the other side of the door. Gokudera had promised to be home, but he hadn’t mentioned guests—

 

_Maybe he’s just on the phone_ , Yamamoto guesses, and then makes an effort to be quiet as he opens the door.

 

The lights are off in the kitchen, so Yamamoto feels around with his foot to find the island so he can set down his armful of supplies and groceries, and then turns on the light. He realizes Gokudera’s voice is coming from their shared home office, and there’s a sliver of light showing through the bottom of the door, so Yamamoto quietly walks up and knocks on the door to announce his presence before opening it.

 

“Hayato?”

 

Gokudera jumps with an undignified squawk, slamming down the lid of his laptop and removing a USB stick from the side in one fluid motion. He whirls around and then sags when he realizes who it is. “ _Mio Dio_ , Takeshi, I didn’t even hear you come in—you scared the shit out of me!”

 

“Haha, sorry—I thought you were on the phone so I didn’t want to be too loud,” Yamamoto says sheepishly. “Who were you talking to? I hope I didn’t make you hang up on whoever it was just now.”

 

Gokudera’s eyes shift to the side. “I wasn’t talking to anyone,” he said, cheeks turning red. Yamamoto raises an eyebrow. “I was just… uh… I was taking video notes from the test in the lab earlier.”

 

“Video notes?” Yamamoto asks skeptically. _Liar_.

 

“Hey! It’s not uncommon with lab tests to take video notes—haven’t you seen _The Amazing Spider-man_? _Back to the Future_?” Gokudera says defensively.

 

“Uh…huh,” Yamamoto replies. “Except Doc Brown filmed during the actual experiment, didn’t he?”

 

“Oh, whatever—smartass. It was easier to get the ideas out verbally instead of writing them down, my wrists are sore from all that note-taking earlier,” Gokudera replies.

 

Yamamoto’s eyebrow stays raised, but he lets the matter drop. If Gokudera doesn’t want to admit to what he was actually doing, then fine. “I brought dinner,” he says instead. “I hope you’re okay with pizza, since that seemed easiest.”

 

He pretends he isn’t offended when Gokudera sighs in relief before standing up and following him out to the kitchen.

 

Neither of them speak while they eat—instead, Gokudera turns on the news and they both settle on the couch. They’re both on their second serving of pizza when Yamamoto waits for a commercial break before he asks, “Something went wrong in the test today, didn’t it.”

 

Gokudera’s hand freezes halfway through bringing another bite to his mouth, and then he frowns, setting the piece back down on his plate. “You’re too damn observant for your own good, you know,” he says.

 

“Well, I do get sent out on a lot of recon missions—I guess it comes with the territory,” Yamamoto replies with a halfhearted grin.

 

For a moment, Yamamoto thinks Gokudera is going to change the subject, or just ignore his question entirely—the commercial break ends and Gokudera seems to be somewhat intent on paying attention to the news.

 

“Nothing actually went _wrong_ ,” Gokudera says suddenly. Yamamoto turns his attention back to Gokudera and waits patiently. After another moment, Gokudera clarifies, “At least, nothing went wrong that I could immediately tell. But there’s a security problem that could potentially compromise the machine’s effectiveness.”

 

Yamamoto purses his lips. “Then you probably shouldn’t have been trying it out by yourself,” he says flatly.

 

“No, not a physical security concern—nothing wrong with that part,” Gokudera replies. “What I mean is… well, when the machine jumps between parallel universes, it takes a lot of energy to make it happen—and a lot of dying will flames. I’ve managed to find a way to do it without risking draining someone entirely of their elemental flames, so that’s not the concern either, before you ask.” Gokudera shoots him a pointed look. “See, the issue is that when you’re using a huge amount of energy, it leaves a trail. Which I did plan for, since that’s the easiest way to find your way back to your original universe. But that also means the trail can be detected by _anyone_ , especially if someone is looking out for the flames—something I didn’t consider before we performed that test today.”

 

Yamamoto’s eyes widen. “You don’t think—”

 

“It’s a possibility,” Gokudera replies, shrugging. “I didn’t see anything on the other side that would cause concern, other than the energy output from the machine. Millefiore undoubtedly has us under surveillance, though, so any kind of large burst of flames could have very quickly put them on alert. It’s hard to tell how much got through, though, since the walls of the lab are insulated, and the estate has a Mist flame barrier from back when it was built.”

 

“This is serious, Hayato—please tell me you’ve at least given Tsuna a heads up,” he says.

 

“I called the Tenth right after you left the lab,” Gokudera replies. “By now, all of Vongola and our allies should be on alert of the possibility of an attack. He says the Namimori complex is also ready for us to move in, just in case.”

 

“But no signs of any movement yet?”

 

Gokudera shakes his head. “I was worried when I realized you were outside the estate most of the afternoon, but the fact that you came back unbothered makes me at least a little optimistic,” he says with a soft smile. When Yamamoto returns the grin, he sees Gokudera’s waver a little bit, and realizes that he’s battling with guilt right now.

 

“Hey, hey—don’t put so much pressure on yourself,” Yamamoto says. “This isn’t your fault; you didn’t know that this could happen.”

 

Gokudera chokes out a laugh (it almost sounds a little too close to a sob), and says, “Oh, I should have known, though—the signs were all there. I just didn’t _think_ —”

 

“Oh come now, you think more than anyone I know,” Yamamoto replies. “It was an honest mistake.”

 

“One that could bring the MIllefiore breathing down our necks by the end of the night,” Gokudera replies irritably.

 

“I hate to break it to you, but they’ve been planning to attack us for a long time now anyway.” Yamamoto shrugs. “I don’t think this will make much of a difference, aside from the timing. We’re already far more prepared for them than our counterparts were—and we still managed to get back alive, even then.”

 

Gokudera snorts. “That is true; I hadn’t thought about it that way,” he admits, after a moment.

 

Feeling a little victorious, Yamamoto smiles back. “Seriously, though, you shouldn’t beat yourself up over it. I think we may be as ready as we’ll ever be,” he says. “Besides, I have complete faith in our famiglia’s ability to overcome any odds—we’re a team, aren’t we?”

 

Gokudera nods hesitantly and manages another smile, this time less wobbly. He stands up, putting out his hand to take Yamamoto’s plate. “More pizza?” he asks, clearly wanting to change subjects. Even if he sees Yamamoto’s point, Yamamoto knows it doesn’t mean he feels any less guilty. That part will take time.

 

“Nah, I’m good.”

 

Gokudera takes both of their plates and rinses them off in the sink before settling back down on the couch, and leaning into Yamamoto’s shoulder. Yamamoto works his arm free so he can curl it around Gokudera’s shoulders, pulling him in tighter.

 

“What did I ever do to deserve you?” Gokudera murmurs.

 

Yamamoto grins and plants a kiss into the top of Gokudera’s head, and they continue to watch the news in comfortable silence.

 

“Oh hey, your baseball team won again,” Gokudera comments, reading the news ticker at the bottom of the screen.

 

“Ah, crap! I recorded the game,” Yamamoto moans.

 

Gokudera chuckles. “Idiot. You really should just listen to the broadcasts on the radio, I think it’d save you a lot of grief with news spoilers.”

 

“We were in the hospital with Lambo while the game was on,” Yamamoto replies. “Otherwise I would have been listening instead!”

 

“Sorry to ruin your fun, then.”

 

Yamamoto’s head jerks up, suddenly remembering that he’d wanted to talk about the weird exchange between Lambo and Gokudera at the hospital.

 

“Say, Hayato—is everything okay between you and Lambo?” he asks.

 

Gokudera suddenly goes very still, but says evenly, “Why do you ask?”

 

“Well, he acted really strangely with you at the hospital today—I thought you two had already put the Bovino incident behind you.” Yamamoto frowns down at the top of Gokudera’s head. “He isn’t still blaming you for that, is he?”

 

“No, no—that’s not it at all,” Gokudera replies. “He’s just… I think he’s anxious about the future, and—well, I think he’s worried because I keep getting targeted by the Millefiore.”

 

“Ah,” Yamamoto says—it does make sense, after all. Lambo would never admit it, but he’s looked up to Gokudera for a long time now, and all of the violence is undoubtedly unsettling to the youngest Guardian. “He’s not the only one who’s worried, you know.”

 

Gokudera nudges Yamamoto with his shoulder. “You’re always a worrywart though,” he replies.

 

Biting back the more scathing reply that comes to the forefront of his mind ( _that’s because you make yourself an easy target_ ), Yamamoto says instead, “Can’t argue with you there.”

 

They continue watching the news in silence, and when Yamamoto feels Gokudera sag against him in sleep, he switches over to the sports channel to watch the highlights reel from the baseball game. The outcome might’ve been spoiled for him, but he always likes catching the highlights—makes him miss playing the game, himself.

 

A part of him wonders if, with the right settings on Gokudera’s machine, he’d ever see himself in the majors.

 

 

 

 

 

When Yamamoto first opens his eyes, he registers that it’s still dark, and can’t figure out why he’s awake. When he rolls over to go back to sleep, his arm lands on the empty space next to him. It’s still a little bit warm, so Gokudera hasn’t been gone long, so he rolls back over and taps his cell phone to see what time it is. It’s only about half past three in the morning, so Yamamoto grunts and rolls himself out of bed, stumbling his way to the kitchen for a glass of water (and to see if Gokudera is there too).

 

Gokudera is sitting on the corner of the couch in the living room, laptop screen reflecting light off his face and his glasses, nursing a few fingers of scotch.

 

“Hey,” Yamamoto greets sleepily.

 

Gokudera looks up. “Hey. Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

 

“No, I don’t think you woke me up—not sure why I’m awake,” Yamamoto replies with a chuckle, which is quickly cut off with a yawn. “Can’t sleep?”

 

“Eh. Same as you—woke up, not sure why, and couldn’t go back to sleep.”

 

Yamamoto shuffles his way into the kitchen and pours himself a glass of water, then flops down in the opposite corner from Gokudera, propping his feet up on Gokudera’s thigh and accidentally knocking into the back of the laptop.

 

“Oi!”

 

“Sorry,” he apologizes sleepily. “Probably should’ve asked before I sat down—you don’t mind if I join you?”

 

Gokudera snorts. “Make yourself comfortable, why don’t you,” he says, though there isn’t any edge to the tone he uses, so Yamamoto grins.

 

“Don’t mind if I do,” he replies. “What’s got you working so early in the morning?”

 

“I had an idea to get around the energy output issue on the hopper, so I’m making some notes to throw into the simulator in a bit,” Gokudera replies.

 

“No video notes this time?” Yamamoto can’t help but ask.

 

Gokudera shoots him a _look_.

 

“Haha, just kidding,” Yamamoto says.

 

They sit in relative silence for a while, Yamamoto nursing his water while Gokudera types rapidly on the laptop, glass of scotch momentarily forgotten. After a little while, Yamamoto feels himself drifting off, so he settles down further into the couch, sets the empty water glass on the coffee table, and closes his eyes, half-asleep. 

 

Eventually he registers that Gokudera’s typing speed is slowing down, and a moment after that, the laptop lid clicks shut. A rustle of cloth, and Gokudera’s weight leaves a vacuum of cool air on the other side of the couch. Yamamoto’s almost disappointed until he realizes that Gokudera is sitting on the floor by him now, resting his forearms and elbows on the couch next to Yamamoto’s head, and resting his chin on his arms. Yamamoto opens his eyes slowly, meeting Gokudera’s gaze evenly, and for a few moments, neither one says anything.

 

Gokudera eventually breaks the stalemate with a sigh and, “You should go back to bed.”

 

When he moves to stand up, though, Yamamoto reaches up and closes his hand around Gokudera’s forearm.

 

“Don’t go,” he says.

 

Gokudera looks torn for all of two seconds before he leans back down and captures Yamamoto’s lips in a soft kiss. “I’m not leaving,” he whispers. “But you’re going to have to come back to bed with me, since that’s where I was headed.”

 

Gokudera holds a hand out and when Yamamoto takes it, he hoists Yamamoto upright. “Well, when you put it like that…” Yamamoto says, grin turning feral.

 

“ _No_ ,” Gokudera says like he doesn’t actually mean it, backing away. “We both have morning meetings—”

 

Feeling confident that he’s going to win this little skirmish, Yamamoto puts on his best puppy dog face pout as he trails Gokudera back to the bedroom.

 

“Don’t be such a baby, Takeshi,” Gokudera says as he sits on his side of the bed and removes his glasses. “I can see that face even with my back turned.”

 

As soon as he lies down on his side with his back turned, Yamamoto flops down directly behind him, spooning against his back and wrapping his arms and legs obstinately around Gokudera’s shoulders and knees.

 

“I happen to know that your first meeting isn’t until eleven,” he says, conspiratorially. “Mine isn’t until ten thirty.”

 

“ _Takeshi_ … “

 

With a grin, Yamamoto huffs gently into the space between Gokudera’s ear and shoulder, moving one hand down to splay across Gokudera’s stomach, and then rocks his hips teasingly into Gokudera’s ass.

 

“ _Damn_ it, you’re persistent,” Gokudera says, wriggling and turning so that they’re face-to-face. There’s a hint of a red coloring his cheeks, so yeah, Yamamoto knows he’s definitely going to win this one. “Okay, okay _fine_. But not for too long—”

 

Yamamoto cuts him off with a kiss.

 

 

 

 

 

“Coffee?” Yamamoto asks, turning around with a full coffee pot in hand when Gokudera finally makes his way into the kitchen.

 

Gokudera scowls at him, though there isn’t much heat behind the look. He simply grabs a mug out of the cabinet and thrusts it in Yamamoto’s direction.

 

“Haha, okay okay I get it, coffee first, words after,” Yamamoto says with a laugh.

 

Gokudera nudges a bar stool out with his knee before he climbs into it. “So, you going to make breakfast or what?” he asks.

 

Yamamoto raises an amused eyebrow.

 

“What? It’s your fault we were up half the night.”

 

“Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it, because we both know that’d be a bald-faced lie,” Yamamoto cheerfully points out. “Eggs and bacon? Omelette?”

 

“Eggs and bacon,” Gokudera replies. “S’faster.”

 

“Eggs and bacon it is.”

 

Gokudera is on his fourth cup of coffee and Yamamoto is washing the dishes when they both simultaneously receive a high-priority text. Yamamoto looks down at his phone to see it’s an urgent meeting from Tsuna—he locks eyes with Gokudera, and based on his expression, Yamamoto already knows he has the same text.

 

Neither one says a word, but the message is clear: _Millefiore is on the move again._ After they both throw on the last clean battle suits they have on hand and their usual arsenal of weapons, they rush over to the main estate building.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> RECOMMENDED LISTENING:  
> ♪ [writing's on the wall](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8jzDnsjYv9A) { sam smith }  
>   
>   
> Feel free to hit me up at loadthebases @ tumblr - I mostly lurk, but I check in pretty often!


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